


Like Stars We Burn

by Wayward-Hunter (KirscheLeibling)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Reichenbach Falls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 04:05:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KirscheLeibling/pseuds/Wayward-Hunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You, you’re ordinary. You live like them, fear like them, think like them,  love like them— I find nothing more befitting than you dying like them.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Stars We Burn

“You, you’re ordinary. You live like them, fear like them, think like them,  love like them— I find nothing more befitting than you dying like them.” Jim says, looking out at the sky and beyond, at the long expanse of desolate slate sky; it never ends, it never begins, just a sea of shallow cosmos that already burned out.

The stars no longer exist. Maybe they did, eons ago, but now? Now they’re just illusions, apparitions of frayed bodies of heat.

How boring.

How everything ends, everything burns out. Nothing to exist, nothing ever has, ever will.

Jim replays that little tune in his head, the brass, the beat, the voice that sings. There’s nothing here, nothing left for him in this city, in this world. He knows how the next few minutes will play out, knows each step, each word and movement like it’s rehearsed and maybe it has. Maybe today has already happened, the gun has already gone off, the call has already ended.

They’ve already said their goodbyes.

Maybe they’re already dead, never lived this time, never crossed paths, never knew of the other but right here, right now, it’s the final move. The end of their great game and there’s one last piece, one piece Jim Moriarty may have overlooked and belittled that has come to ruin his plans.

“John?”

“Yes.”

No, not a pawn, pawns cannot move back, cannot destroy entire strategies. He’s more of a bishop, of a _knight_ that keeps getting in the way.

But they’ve played this game before. He knows the moves before Sherlock can make them; this day is already gone forever.

The gunshot has already ended his part of the play.

The call has. Ended.

_“This is my note. Goodbye, John”_

Because they are stars, have been gone for millions of years, only playing off the light of their life, now exhausted.

Maybe they had lived, once upon a time.

But that was long ago.

And the game—

~~**_BANG._ ** ~~

~~_Beep. Beep. Beep._ ~~

~~_“Goodbye, John”_ ~~

Has—

~~_**BANG.** _ ~~

~~_Beep. Beep. Beep._ ~~

~~_“Goodbye, John”_ ~~

Ended.

Because they are stars, dead for thousands of years, burning out the light of their lies in slow agony.

The game is over.

Checkmate. ** _  
_**

**Author's Note:**

> Found this on my Tumblr and decided to cross-post my little drabble here c:


End file.
